THE IMPALER'S WIFE

Chapter 28

Vlăduţ topples over and bursts into a frustrated cry.

"He is an exceptionally determined young prince. Just like his father." Dădacăprops him up again because he wails with frustration if left on his back.

"Vlăduţ is extraordinary, everyone says so." One hand rests on my plump belly, my wanton depravity at Buda chapel igniting Vlad's desire for me again.

This pregnancy is easy. I am neither sick nor tired. Vlad believes it is another boy. But whether conceived between the pews or during the many times afterward, it proves our resurrected bond.

Our lovemaking has taken an unusual turn. Vlad avoids the bed in favor of daring locations. He feasted on my pleasure knot while I leaned against the stable wall. He took me in the courtyard under the stars. I rode him like a horse atop the table in the great chamber. He suckles my breast milk like a babe. We cannot get enough of one another—wet kisses and lusty gropes throughout the day. I've stopped worrying when he is gone for days and sometimes weeks. If he says he meets with boyars, I believe him.

Rareş, Vlad's manservant, rouses my happy thoughts and enters the nursery. "My lady, my master requires your presence."

My pulse quickens with delight. It is not often I have the privilege of entering his inner sanctum.

The room is a treasure of colorful tapestries, marble busts, bronze statues, weaponry schematics, and Transylvanian maps. A manly musk mingles with the tang of wine and whiff of ale.

Vlad sits in a plush velvet chair, a wine goblet and map in front of him. "I have a surprise."

I kiss his bristly cheek. "A map?"

"Not just any map." Vlad hooks his arm around my waist and pats his knee.

I sit on his thigh, and he burrows his face in my bodice and growls. I giggle and feel the familiar heated tightening below. I tug at my skirt but he stays my hand.

"Does this map look familiar?"

I peer at it, giggling as Vlad's hand wanders over my bodice. "It is Pest." Every street, residence, shop, stable, inn, church, and smithy are drawn to scale. Even our manse.

Vlad taps a well-known inn notorious for brawls and debaucheries. "We're going here tonight."

"Whatever for?"

"A bit of scouting." Vlad winks.

"You mean spying." I nip at his nose.

Vlad chuckles, the deep timbre as smooth as a cat's purr. Hypnotic and honeyed, his voice is food for my soul, burrowing deep into the very fiber of my being and feeding my love for him.

"Is this your disguise?" I brush my hand across his chin, scraggly and thick from three-days growth. "This explains why the barber has time to chase my servant girl."

Vlad scratches his cheek. "I thought it rather made me look like a carpet dealer from Serbia."

"Not in these clothes." I tug on his velvet robe. "And am I to be your Serbian wife?"

"You will be my Hungarian wife."

"How is that a disguise?"

"You won't be wearing this blouse." Vlad tugs on the lace cuff dangling from my sleeve. "Or this skirt." He pushes up my skirt and plunges his finger into my wetness.

#

The night is cool, and dusk's waning light casts long shadows across the road. Over the clatter of hooves and wheels, dogs bark. Pulled by an old mare, we travel through Pest in our most modest carriage, all Drăculeștiinsignia removed. Rareş drives us, his colorful livery exchanged for well-worn undyed clothing. Likewise, Vlad and I dress in sturdy travel attire and plain boots.